


careful

by dansunedisco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Married Couple, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sansa, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7565101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Children weren’t for the winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	careful

**Author's Note:**

> Anon asked for a tender moment between Jon and a pregnant Sansa.
> 
> You got it, nonnie, you just gotta wade through the angst first... :')

They had tried to be careful. They had to, because they’d _agreed_. Children weren’t for the winter. Not for the Others. Nor the Dragon Queen descending upon them with her retinue, her advisors, the fearsome creatures she called her children.

When they would couple, Jon took care to not spill inside of her; or, in the few desperate times she’d begged him not to leave her, she would prepare moon tea the very next day. And it had always worked. She would endure the pain in her stomach. She would endure Jon’s concern. She would endure, because that was what she did best. Then winter came, as promised. The White Walkers, too, a war larger than themselves scratching at their gates with a jagged claw, and it had struck an underline in the words: a child had no place.

She touched her stomach; still flat, still unseen.

Her blood hadn’t come this month, or the last. She had marked it down to stress, like a fool. There were more mouths to feed than ever before--Free Folk and bannermen, the sick, the poor, the scared--and in Jon’s stead, she was the queen who reigned. Winterfell was a safe haven, a lighthouse in the cloying darkness, and she was loathe to turn any man, woman or child from her home. And so she’d worried, and worked, and ruled, until two months had passed without blood, and the heated memory of Jon’s mouth against her neck, his cock moving inside of her, _staying_ inside of her, told her what she had known to be truth all along, but had refused to acknowledge.

No, a child had no place in the long night, but a child there would be. She was pregnant. There was to be no denying it, nor the pinched, apologetic look Sam had given her when she’d recalled her symptoms: her breasts tender, hardtack her preferred meal, the enhancement of smells both good and bad. A strange cold, surely, she’d thought. A winter’s flu. Like a stupid, stupid girl.

“I will send a raven,” Sam had said, placing a gentle, comforting hand upon her elbow after he’d confirmed her fears; _Jon needs to know_.

And she’d been too weak to disagree. For in that moment, she had wanted nothing more than to see Jon again. Sansa had strength in spades, but this? This new revelation made her weak. She needed him. Her husband. The man who she knew would ride south from the Wall immediately. The man who loved her, who would wrap her in his strong arms and hold her; assuage her fears. Jon. The father of the child growing inside of her.

She pressed her hand to her stomach, imagining the swell that would be there in several months time. When she was a little girl, she was always so excited for babes and brothers and sisters-- asking as many questions she could think of from anyone who’d entertain her, placing her tiny hand on her mother’s growing stomach, thinking of the best names for her future siblings and imagining all that they would do with one another. A few years later, and she couldn’t wait to have children of her own. Now, she felt little else but fear.

Just then, the crunch of footfalls in hard-packed snow drifted through the godswood, and her gaze snapped up. A familiar figure made its way towards her, and the sight of him had her bursting into hot, sudden tears.

“Oh, Sansa,” Jon said, coming to kneel in the snow at her feet. He grabbed her hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, murmuring, “I love you, I love you. Don’t cry.”

If anything, this made her cry all the harder. “The tea didn’t work the last time,” she said, “I was selfish, and now-- I’m sorry, Jon, forgive me.”

“There is _nothing_ to forgive,” he insisted, “I’m _happy_.”

“Happy? How can you be happy?”

“I know what we agreed on… but there’s no changing it, is there? I’ve wanted children with you the moment we married. Five Northern children. I want them to have your hair. Your eyes. I love you, Sansa. My wife.” He squeezed her hands. “Winter is here. The Walkers are here. And I’m here, too. This is wonderful news.”

Her stomach fluttered with butterflies. “Five?” she asked, the brief wash of emotion that had thrown her into turmoil slipping away. "Not six?"

He gave her a faint smile. “Less, or more,” he said, “whatever you are willing to give me.”

She cupped his face. “What a silly thing to say,” she teased, because he already knew what her answer would be: _everything, and forever._ He leaned into her touch, skin warm despite the chill, and she knew then that all would be well.

(And all was.)


End file.
